False Pretences
by Queen of the Castle
Summary: Draco Malfoy is tired of the charade that his life has become and just wants a way out.


Author's Notes: Written pre-OotP, so very AU. One of the first things I wrote, and probably a bit out of character based on the growth of the characterisation in the later books.

* * *

Draco Malfoy pulled his knees up to his chest, shivering violently. It wasn't cold in the castle in which he sat, for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was heated by hundreds of magical fires. But Draco had never felt more frozen in all his sixteen years.

Lying beside him was a very long, very sharp knife. It glinted ominously in the flickering light of the torches that lined the hallway he was sitting curled up in. Draco wasn't all that sure what had possessed him to take the knife from his house during the holidays, when he'd first found it. Perhaps he'd foreseen that he'd need it later that year.

That scared him. He _needed_ this knife, and needed the magic it held within its blade. He had overheard his mother ask his father why on earth he would need an ordinary knife like that in the house, and Lucius Malfoy had scoffed and replied that it was hardly ordinary; it would instantly steal the life of anything the blade sliced.

Draco allowed himself a detached smile. His mother had been quite foolish to assume that his father would keep anything 'ordinary' in his house, for Lucius looked down his nose at Muggles, or indeed anyone who couldn't trace their family history through many centuries of witches and wizards. The Malfoy family were purebloods through and through, and every member of the Malfoy family was taught to think themselves superior to the masses.

However, contrary to popular opinion, Draco couldn't have cared less about a person's family background. He only acted as he did out of necessity, to keep up the unbreakable exterior his father had come to expect from him.

His father was very wealthy and influential in the magical world, and he was either hated or feared by everyone that Draco knew. Lucius Malfoy was in a very powerful position indeed. He was one of the principal followers of the most powerful and evil dark wizard in memory.

The mere thought sent a wave of disgust through Draco. While he'd never show any disrespect towards his father, he was sickened by many of the things the man did. He could never be in allegiance with someone who killed for the sheer enjoyment of it. Someone who would torture and kill even though loyal to him without a second thought. Someone like the Dark Lord, in other words.

But that was exactly what was expected of Draco. He'd felt the pressure to become the duplicate of his father since he was very young. He'd known even then that if he chose a different path, his family would disown him, and his father would likely have him killed; to Lucius, Draco was merely his heir, and both he and his wife were still young enough to conceive another child to replace him.

That was when Draco had begun to put up barriers around himself. No one could ever know what he was really like, or there would be drastic consequences. He'd begun to act just like he was expected to, but he derived no pleasure from the suffering he seemed to cause others, like his father did.

In truth, he hurt himself more with every remark he made.

Now he'd reached the time when the charade would come to an end. His father was basically ordering Draco to join him at Lord Voldemort's side. He couldn't. It was as simple as that. Yet, if his father found out...

Well. It would be worse than a quick and clean death, anyway.

Draco picked up the knife in his right hand, and held it barely an inch from his left wrist. One slice, that was all it would take. He wondered briefly how everyone would react when they found him lying there. He wondered also if anyone else had ever committed suicide in one of these halls, like one of the nameless ghosts he saw around the school. Perhaps he would join them.

It was extreme, Draco knew. But he honestly couldn't see any other way to escape the nightmare that was his life.

If he ran away, he'd die anyway, most likely through starvation, for he didn't have a Knut to his own name to provide for himself. He'd always relied on his father's money, for the man had more than even his lavish tastes could burn through. When Draco was younger, he'd amused himself by stealing Lucius's money, taking more each time, trying to see how far he could go before his father noticed. Draco had always loved pushing the limits; the exhilaration he got from it was the only true emotion he ever allowed himself. It was a shame he hadn't thought to keep any of that money aside just in case.

And if he didn't run...

He leaned back on the stone wall behind him, and sighed inaudibly as he felt the coolness against the hot skin of his back. It had to be done, that was all there was to it.

He looked down at the knife and placed it right against his skin. He wouldn't feel a thing once his skin was grazed. It was as comforting a thought as anything could be at a time like this, he supposed.

"Malfoy?"

Draco jerked around in his seated position to face the direction the voice had come from. Standing about twenty feet away was Harry Potter, Draco's adversary at Hogwarts.

"What on earth are you doing out this late, Potter?" he spat.

Harry glanced down at the knife, still hovering precariously close to Draco's wrist, and his eyes widened.

"Well, I could ask you the same thing, but that'd be a bit pointless, all things considered."

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I suggest you go back to your dorm now, Potter."

Harry hesitated a moment, then took a step toward him instead.

"No, I don't think I will," he said calmly.

Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world. It would figure that he of all people would show up, and then would refuse to disappear back off to whatever rat's hole he'd escaped from. He probably thought he could rescue Draco, never mind the fact that Draco didn't even want to be saved, thanks.

Draco sneered. "Well then, Potter, what were you planning on doing? You can stay and watch if you really like. I'm sure that would make your night."

Harry let the comment pass, as if sensing that it wouldn't be smart to rise to the bait by getting angry in response. Instead, he looked straight into Draco's eyes.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"Why _what_?" Draco snapped.

"Why are you doing this? You would be the last person I would have expected to –"

"You don't know me, Potter! Don't presume to understand me."

Harry frowned. "Maybe if you dropped that wall that stands so securely between you and the rest of the world... If you just let someone in ..."

"Shut up, Potter! You have no idea!" Draco exclaimed, but in truth Harry had hit the bludger square on.

It was Harry's turn to narrow his eyes. "Don't I?"

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Look, I think you should leave now. Before I force you to."

He took his wand out of his pocket and pointed it straight at Harry, who barely even batted an eye.

"You wouldn't curse me," Harry said, his voice irritatingly confident.

"Wouldn't I?" Draco growled in response.

"No, you're too smart for that," Harry said simply. "Because if you did curse me, then what?" Harry shrugged slightly. "Don't you even want to tell anyone why you're doing it? Kinda defeats the purpose."

"I'm not doing this as some attention-grabbing stunt, Potter. Besides, who would I tell, exactly?" Draco asked angrily.

Harry smiled grimly. "That, of course, is the problem, isn't it? You've surrounded yourself with people who are either too dim to notice, like Crabbe and Goyle, or too self-centred to care, like the other Slytherins. Your mother seems to be pretty much overshadowed by your father, and your father ... well, I get the feeling that he's the reason you're doing this."

Draco dropped the knife in surprise, and he barely even noticed when Harry, lightning-fast, swept it up off the ground, and put it in his pocket.

"Shut up," Draco hissed. "You don't know anything about my father."

Harry gazed at him for a long time. "Sure I do," he said eventually. "I looked."

"You -"

"I looked," he repeated firmly. "I've seen you with your father. As if you're constantly worried that you might say the wrong thing... or as if you're scared of him..."

"I'm _not_ scared of my father," Draco muttered. He shook his head slightly and stared at the wall in front of him. Why was it that it was his worst enemy that was the only one who could see what was really going on inside his head?

"Do you really want to do this?" Harry asked.

" I can't keep living this way," Draco said, pointedly refusing to directly answer the question.

"Like what? Like your father?"

Draco jerked away like he'd been burned. "I'm _not_ like my father," he spat. "I'm nothing like him."

Harry watched him. Draco was seriously messed up by this. He could plainly see the desperation in the other boy's eyes.

"I know," Harry said finally.

Draco gritted his teeth. "Stop pretending you're some sort of Mind Healer. What do you know about _anything_, let alone my family? Nothing, that's what!"

"No," Harry argued. "I do know. Whether or not you want me to, I can see it. You were insulting Hermione just this morning, and I saw something in your eyes I'd never seen in you; a sort of defeat. Like you were just going through the motions and couldn't have actually cared less about what you were saying. I can tell because I've been there."

Draco glared at him cynically. "You never even knew your family, Potter," he spat. "How could you have any idea what it's like?"

"What I mean is, people expect _so damn much_ from me sometimes. And when I don't quite measure up, sometimes they even hate me for it. So I give them what they want, regardless of what _I_ want."

Draco shook his head. "'Woe is me', is that it? I don't feel sorry for you at all."

"You're not meant to!" Harry spat. "Merlin, I just want you to see that you're not the only one..."

"I'm not like you anymore than I'm like my father," Draco snorted. "Stop trying to pretend we're the same somehow."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "Look, I've said all I can. Either I can give you the knife back and walk away, like you wanted... or you can stop being a prick and just _talk_ to me. Or maybe keep being a prick _while_ you talk to me, if acting like a human being is too much to ask of you."

Draco glared up into Harry's intense green eyes.

"What good will talking do, huh?" he asked angrily.

Harry held out the knife. "Look, whatever. I can't convince you if you won't give me a proper chance to try. So either take the damn thing or don't."

Draco sneered. "Why do you care, anyway? You hate me! What, do you think it will make you even more famous if you 'save' me?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Malfoy, I never asked to be famous," he hissed. "Just like you never asked to be a Malfoy. It might seem that I got the better deal, but you imagine having people pointing at you wherever you go, gaping at some dirty great scar on your forehead. Especially when said scar is a souvenir of the night your parents were murdered right in front of you."

They stared furiously at each other, and then Draco snatched the knife out of Harry's hand. Harry's face contorted into an exasperated glower.

"Whatever," he muttered. "It's your choice."

He turned and stormed a few steps in the other direction, before pausing.

"By the way, although it won't matter much once you're dead, I don't hate you. You're right. I don't even _know_ you well enough to hate you."

He turned back around and walked away, leaving Draco staring wide-eyed after him.

Harry paced the halls for what seemed like hours before his feet forced him back to the spot where he'd left Draco. He had to know... When he rounded the corner his heart felt like it had stopped. A familiar blond was lying quite still on the ground.

But as Harry neared, he noticed the soft shivers running throughout his enemy's body, and the discarded knife lying a few feet away, completely untouched by blood. He wasn't dead, he was merely crying. Draco Malfoy was crying.

"Malfoy?" Harry called softly.

The other boy rolled over, and Harry saw the tears that streaked his face.

"I don't want to die," he whimpered.

Harry walked slowly towards him. "It's alright, Draco. Your father won't be able to touch you. I'll make sure of it."

Draco collapsed at Harry's feet when he reached him, and broke down crying.

Harry knelt down beside him, awkwardly patting him on the back.

"It's going to be all right..."

~FIN~


End file.
